History Lesson
by Kez Ramsey
Summary: Magneto's determined to teach his son a lesson . . . by sending him to a nazi concentration camp. Please rr, Pietro angst dark themes
1. Run Down

@N: So I warn you in advance. I've been reading T S Eliot of late. This story's in a quasi- stream of consciousness form (unform?), I didn't mean it. It just kind of came out that way. Anyways, please review, I don't care what you put. *I'm begging here* I'm not going to continue this if no one's reading it. This is fanfiction there's really no point – it's for the fans from the fans. I end my rant here, please enjoy (and review!)

History Lesson

Chapter One: Run Down

"Tick, tick, tick," Pietro muttered as he sneered at the contemptuous device, counting the seconds down one at a time. Absent-mindedly, he picked up a pencil and began tapping it impatiently. The click, click, click of the pencil against the laminate desk quickly replaced the clock's march. The school had long vacated but still, there he sat a prisoner.

"Hey, freak! Cut it out!"

Pietro raised an eyebrow in Jason's direction, who had turned in his seat, and was pointing at the hand holding the pencil. If there were a contest for school bigot, he would have won hands down. He had come out of nowhere to triumph as the student body's champion against the mutant menace. Pietro merely looked at him through half-closed lids, tapped the pencil faster, faster than humanly possible. Jason stood but Pietro remained seated, appearing only slightly interested in the goings-on.

Mr. Stevens, the supervisor, returned from his bathroom break with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands. "Mr. Ferguson, students are to remain seated during detention, or have you forgotten?"

"No, I haven't forgotten," Jason replied as he sat back down.

"I leave the room for one minute, and everyone seems to throw out the rules," the teacher went on as he walked around the room. "Then again, I suppose that isn't surprising considering that you are all here because you decided to forgo the rules in the first place." He put his hand over Pietro's and pried the pencil for him. "You especially ought to mind yourself," he said pointedly to the teen.

Pietro rolled his eyes, resting his head in his other hand. He was tired of hearing it, tired of detention, tired of it all.

Mr. Stevens looked at his watch. "Alright, you're free to go. I expect you here promptly tomorrow."

'And the next day, and the next day,' Pietro added in his head. The four boys rose in unison and filed out of the room. Pietro was in lead, mildly aware of the taunts Jason and his lackeys were issuing for his benefit. He stuck his hands in his pockets and trudged on. The jabs stopped short once he shouldered through the front doors, and looking up he realized why.

Sabretooth and Gambit stood outside to meet him. Curious, he looked behind him, finding some enjoyment in the way Jason and his crew shut up and made themselves scarce. Gambit winked at them, showing off a charged card.

"What are you here for?" Pietro asked, though the answer seemed rather obvious.

"Just came by as a little heads-up, is all," Gambit replied. He gestured to Sabretooth with a sideways glance as he put away the now-harmless card. "He's just here . . . ah, for other business. Acolyte stuff, you know."

Pietro gave a look that indicated he could care less.

"So, Magneto wants your boys – well, the Brotherhood, ready soon, eh? He's coming by to check up on progress." Gambit put his hands up to show he didn't mean anything by it. "Just thought you might wanna know."

Pietro regarded either Acolyte for a second, then walked off. 'Not my problem,' he thought.

"Hey, you want I should fire up those punks' pants or something? You know, spread the word about messing with mutants?" Gambit called after him.

~

He stood at the walkway leading to the Brotherhood house. It had been newly renovated, to what end Pietro couldn't figure. Why it suddenly mattered to Magnus that they were living in such a sty, was a questionable topic. There was probably a simple answer but that simple answer would be found within a number of other more complex answers. He pushed the subject to the back of his mind. Whatever the reason, he would find out eventually he knew. That was always the case.

Pietro checked his watch. Detention had already cost him one date; the second was looming closer and closer. Was it Mary or Shelly?

Girls were a funny thing, he conceded. Some of them had screamed bloody murder when they found out he was a mutant while others had found him all the more desirable. It wasn't as one-sided as Magnus had predicted but it was close enough. They either feared him because he was different or they coveted him for it; there was no equal ground.

He realized he really didn't want to go on a date, but at the same time, home – or whatever you called it – wasn't all that appealing either. He headed off in a random direction, a small piece of freedom tailing him as he sped away. Lance and the others could veg on their own and Mary or Shelly or whoever she was could catch a flick by herself. He was tired of it all.

~

"Where've you bin?" Toad inquired, bounding into his room. "Missed three training sessions, oh . . . Mystique is not happy with you."

Pietro ignored the boy, grabbed a sweater from his closet and threw it on. He left the room without saying a word.

"Hey, hey, wait! Pietro! Where are you going?"

~

Jason and company cast their usual glances his way as they passed him. It was the same for all the others who feared his kind. Pietro yawned in reply, taking a rare moment to enjoy the warmth of the sun as he rested atop one of the quad's picnic tables. There was a hushed silence around him these days, save for the predictable name-calling and threats.

Magnus had instructed him to keep a low profile when he had returned to school. He had never realized what a hypocrite his father could be until that day. Pietro hadn't been identified during the sentinel attack – a stroke of luck, he concluded, that could only be due to the large number of telepaths on his father's payroll – and so, no one save the obvious knew what he was when he came back. He had changed that quickly enough though, much to Magnus' dismay.

Magneto had wanted the Brotherhood to train in secret and carry on as 'normal' teenagers. Again, to what end Pietro couldn't figure, not that it mattered, since he knew it was impossible. He wasn't going to hide behind his 'normal' looks just to skate by. It was bad enough he couldn't use his powers in school.

~

"I don't get you. What about the others?"

"Their delinquency has got them expelled. I can't do anything more for them in that respect," Magneto answered.

"So, where does that leave me? I'm not going back there."

"You are, and if you, too, decide to get yourself expelled you can consider yourself alone in this world, Pietro. I won't have you as my son."

~

There were many mutants at Bayville High these days. Maybe their parents thought it would be better for them at a school with a real mutant policy. Most schools just pretended they didn't exist. Maybe it was their own choice and they had hoped a school where mutants weren't afraid to be themselves couldn't be all that bad. Did it matter? Droves came in and droves left just the same. The world was changing, evolving – even the social makeup of the highschool arena. The nerds had nothing to worry about anymore, the target group had shifted, geeks to freaks. It _was_ different but it was still all the same.

And maybe that's why he had decided to tell Principal Kelly.

~

"I'm a mutant. So is my father and my sister. I go by Quicksilver."

  
"Excuse me?"

Pietro shrugged. "I'm a mutant."

~

He was just so tired of it all.


	2. Crossing the Lines in the Sand

@N: Hey, great! People do actually read this! Thanks, a lot! Keep them coming so I know you want more. And by the way, I don't own x-men: evo in case you didn't know. Onward the fic:

History Lesson

Chapter Two: Crossing the Lines in the Sand

It had been fun at first, the idea of whipping the Brotherhood into shape. He had thoroughly enjoyed his entrance, proclaimed the team's success and, in turn, the x-men's defeat. They listened to him because they wanted in, but it was still nearly the same. No discipline, no focus and they didn't even take training seriously, but atleast he was in charge of them. He was, until _she_ returned.

~

"Mystique! We thought you were-"

The liquid voice of the infamous shapeshifter cut Lance off. "Well, as you can see I'm not." She turned to Pietro who was leaning against the nearest wall, eyes narrowed in contempt. "As for you, I'll assume you got the message, given your warm welcome."

"Oh, I got it," Pietro muttered.

~

"This is – this is – this is nuts!" Pietro exclaimed.

Magneto eyed the boy from where he sat but said nothing.

"You're giving the Brotherhood back to her? What about me? You put me in charge, remember?"

"I'm perfectly aware of that, Pietro." Magneto stood. "But things are now changing. Mystique is in my employment again, and you know as well as I do that she needs to think she possesses some level of power in order to be of any use to anyone."

"But you don't trust her – but you gave the Brotherhood to me!"

"I don't have to trust her in order to employ her. I have you to keep an eye on her for me. As for your other concern," his tone deepened indicating the subject had become forbidden territory. "That has already been addressed. The Brotherhood is no longer your direct responsibility." Pietro opened his mouth to say something but Magneto beat him to it, "And this will not be discussed again."

~

The fun slowly slipped away from him. Just slow enough that he didn't notice, until one day he realized it had all disappeared. The fights and constant bigotry seemed to intensify or maybe he just paid more attention to them, gave them more thought. And then . . . and then there was Wanda. 

~

*

"Pietro! Where is he? Tell me!" she demanded as she entered the small café.

Pietro turned in his seat, dropping the newspaper he had been reading and the bagel he had been eating. He flew off the chair and backed away from his sister. With a single utterance, the café vacated, leaving the two alone. Pietro put his hands up in defense but it was no use. "Wanda! Wanda, I don't know. That's not how it works, he comes to me."

"Then I'll have to give him a reason to come to you!"

~

And then she was different and though Pietro suspected something, he didn't dare confront Magnus about it. She was happy but she remembered things that never really happened. Love replaced hate too much, too quickly.

~

"Pietro!" Wanda called as she waltzed into his room.

Pietro jumped from where he had been sitting, nearly leaping into a stance ready to fight, or zip through the nearest exit at the very least. "Ah, Wanda! Jeez, don't do that." He straightened out his clothes, trying to look as though he hadn't been startled. "What do you want?"

"Some money and your butt in Lance's jeep. We're going for pizza."

"Sorry, not interested," Pietro replied, settling back down into his seat.

Wanda frowned and stalked over to him. She gave a look as she rest her hands on her hips, a look that meant she wasn't taking no for an answer. "Well, we need the money whether you come or not, so you might as well." She turned and left the room. Pietro watched her leave, wondering if it was safe or not to move yet. He cautiously straightened in his chair just as it was engulfed by his sister's hex magic. He froze, fearing the worst. The chair merely slid out of his room, down the stairs – with slight turbulence – then literally dropped him into the back of Lance's jeep. Wanda laughed from where she sat beside him.

~

Presently, she sat watching the monotonous television with the rest of the Brotherhood. Mystique had disappeared into her re-claimed bedroom, once again leaving her charges to their own. There was nothing on no matter how many different ways Toad contorted himself into. Tabitha had exploded three tvs for lack of entertainment, the fourth was steadily approaching its end. Then again, she did call herself Boom-Boom for a reason.

"Hey, why can't the bossman afford us some cable?" Toad complained as he returned, having given up at Wanda's beckoning. 

"Why don't you call him up and ask him, Pietro?" Lance remarked.

"I bet those Acolytes got cable," Freddy commented as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Is he in charge? Go talk to Mystique if you've got complaints," Boom-Boom exclaimed.

Pietro regarded her for a moment. He was never sure who's side she was on since she come to the defense of every one of them at one point or another. None of the others said anymore all the same. He eyed the group, then stood, ready to leave for the sanctity of his room.

A violent storm of glass stopped, stopped everyone.

Shouts of varying derogatory remarks suddenly exploded all around them. Another brick came flying through a window. Everyone dived for cover, save for Pietro who stood where he was, with one hand in his pocket and the other idly brushing glass out of his hair.

"Somebody call the cops, yo!" Toad yelled from where he had shoved himself under the couch.

"We don't need the police," Lance muttered, rising to his feet in a rage. He clenched his fists, eyes rolling back in his head as the ground began to shake. Wanda stood as well, her own abilities finding weapons of opportunity amidst the broken shards of glass scattered around the floor. Blob stood. A brick broke another window and bounced off his girth. He picked it up and whipped it back in the direction it had come. "We are not putting up with this!" Lance snarled. He stalked out of the house to meet whoever-it-was that had issued the bricks. The Brotherhood followed, everyone but Pietro.

~

It was Jason and his crew, some others and their affiliates. They yelled and taunted, then ran away. The Brotherhood was gleaming from their victory, however small, however insignificant. Pietro was watching tv again.

"Hey, thanks for the help, yo," Toad commented, entering the room in mid-leap.

"He never helps anymore," Freddy added.

"What's the point? Scare them off, they'll just be back again," Pietro stated dryly as he surfed through the ocean of blurry images.

~

The bell rang. Another ordained transition of learning modes summoned by the singular resounding noise of an electronically synthesized 'ring' swept through the school. The halls filled and classrooms emptied in its wake. Not as individuals, however, did the student body travel from class to class; no, masses adhering to stereotypes – some not – grouped together in conglomerates of the teen hierarchy. Jocks found other jocks. The cheerleaders, the academics, they all flocked to their own kind. Mutants found mutants.

Solidarity or something. You got them alone, or else you'd have to face a whole horde of them. Common knowledge was the key to surviving highschool. If you knew, you knew what to avoid, and who to avoid. It worked in theory atleast.

It wasn't always Jason. He was just a prominent figure on the chessboard. It was always everyone, or so it seemed. If you weren't with them you were against them but Pietro couldn't remember when something you had no control over had ever drawn the line. (There had been many of course.) He strode through the halls too confident to be bothered. Untouchable. But really, he was too tired of it all to care. He just hid it well. He just hid.

~

Wanda screamed his name over and over again, having given up on her father. All he could do was stand in the rain and stare at his own reflection in the puddles. Magnus stood beside him, saying nothing. Pietro wished for anything but silence. Anything at all. He stood in the rain for a long time. Magnus sat in the car waiting for him, Wanda had long disappeared into the building across the street but her screams still echoed in his head.

He walked to the car slowly, taking one last look of the ominous building before getting in. Magnus said nothing and didn't bother to even after his son had returned. The ignition roared to life and the car sped away in the rain. Pietro sat in the corner of the backseat with his knees tucked to his chest, wanting only to disappear alongside his sister.

~

Pietro walked into Mystique's office, a solid, steady gait of pure determination. Even she seemed to notice something different about the teen as she looked up from her work. Putting away the new folders Magneto had sent her, she leaned back, inviting whatever Pietro had come to say. He looked at her pointedly, blue-eyed stare matching her yellow gaze point for point. Mystique said nothing though the boy's own silence was beginning to unnerve her.

With finality, he ran his fingers through his hair as he said his piece. Turning on his heel, he stalked out in the same fashion he had entered. Mystique watched him leave, somewhat dumbfounded by the one-sided exchange. She picked up the phone and dialed a number.

~

"I quit this all."


	3. Still Here

*So, I've played with the actual meaning of the song, I can do that – I have creative liscense! Anyways, a songfic for this chap because it worked so damn well. Edited, or course, for my own means. Song "I'm Still Here" and rights belong to John Rzeznik and his label . . .

History Lesson

Chapter Three: Still Here

~

Magnus opened the door for his son with one swift motion of the arms that looked so huge and powerful to the small boy. He gestured with a nod of his head to get out but all Pietro could do was sit and stare at his father. There was more silence, then a muffled sigh from Magnus. He turned on his heel and left. Pietro watched him leave, but turned his head away when his father looked back at him. Through the reflection from the window on the other side of the car he could clearly see his father's expression of disappointment. He squeezed his knees tighter to his chest as more tears silently flowed down his cheeks.

__

I am a question to the world  
Not an answer to be heard  
Or a moment  
That's held in your arms

~

It was funny, he realized as he stood there. Running, running and there he was standing and waiting. His foot had begun tapping subconsciously and he had the rather unbreakable habit of checking his watch every ten seconds or so, but all in all it felt . . . liberating. He wasn't running away, and he wasn't waiting for some clueless reason of Magneto's. He was waiting for a bus that was going to take him home, back to where he was normal. There was luggage at his feet and a ticket in his hand. It was freedom.

The bus pulled in only two minutes late which was probably close to what Pietro could handle. Freedom notwithstanding, the ability to circle the world in a thought had taken its toll on his patience. Still, there was no overwhelming sensation of suffocation in the stillness around him. People moved about, passerbys, the buses pulled in and out and he stood there waiting. The world was finally moving at a pace he could stand. 

Admittedly travel via bus was not his most preferable choice but he had taken some pleasure out of the idea of paying for the one-way trip with the mastercard that Magnus had given him. He had cut the card up afterward. At present, he selected the window seat at the back of the coach, sticking his bag on the aisle-side seat in the traditional don't-sit-here fashion. The bus only sat for the amount of time it took for the rest of the passengers to board and then it was off. Unexpectedly, his reflection caught his attention. Cold blue eyes, his father's cold blue eyes stared back at him.

__

  
And what do you think you'd ever say?  
I won't listen anyway  
You don't know me  
And I'll never be what you want me to be  


Why had he decided to take a bus? The thought crossed his mind idly sometime after the first half-hour of the trip. His parents, well the Maximoffs, had been overjoyed to hear he was coming back to New York. They had nearly forced him to accept their offer of picking him up, but he had finally declined. Why? Because it was about independence . . . about his own terms. It was something like that, he conceded. Driving the train of thought to the furthest reaches of his mind, he cast his attention on the scenery rolling by.

It wasn't, of course, because he wanted his father to try and stop him.

__

  
And what do you think you'd understand?  
I'm a boy, no, I'm a man  
You can't take me  
And throw me away  


~

"You're a mutant," Magnus said simply. "You're my son."

"I'm not," Pietro responded. "I have a dad."

"Merely a friend who looked after you while I was away."

"Doing what?" skepticism dripped off the child's words. He was young but he wasn't stupid.

"Making preparations. I was too busy to worry about two small children, now you're old enough to be able to help me."

"I'm not," Pietro persisted.

~

Wanda hadn't stopped crying since they left the driveway. It wasn't a secret. She was going somewhere else. Pietro sat beside her too solemn to betray his emotions. She held onto his arm, using it as an ersatz teddy-bear. Magnus hadn't even let her bring that.

"Please don't let him send me away," she whispered into her brother's sleeve between two violent sobs.

Pietro was silent.

"I'll go back home, to mom and daddy!" she shouted in Magnus' direction. The figure that was the twins' father didn't even flinch at the words. "I'll go back home . . ." Wanda began repeating. "I didn't do anything."

"I'll go back home . . ."

The men in white were waiting at the entrance to the building when they arrived. Nothing was said save only by the rain. They moved in and took Wanda away, and then she was gone. Silence. Magnus stood alongside Pietro before returning to the car. Silence. He didn't even lie to him. Silence.

__

  
And how can you learn what's never shown?  
Yeah, you stand here on your own  
They don't know me  
Cause I'm not here  
  
~

He looked to the Brotherhood house with much disinterest, the other option – his date – wasn't looking all that promising either. 

Pietro ran again. It didn't really matter where he was going, only that he was moving and the world was not. It didn't really matter how fast he ran either and somewhere inside him, though he refused to believe it, he knew it too. It wasn't that he was escaping his life – it was his life that was escaping him. He was doing the footwork but the reality was that he was the one being left in the dust.

__

  
And I want a moment to be real  
Wanna touch things I don't feel  
Wanna hold on and feel I belong  
And how can the world want me to change?  
They're the ones that stay the same  
They don't know me  
Cause I'm not here  


~

A little girl wandered over to where he sat and began playing with the strap of his suitcase. She smiled at him when he glanced over at her and showed off her doll. Pietro nodded, feeling somewhat obligated to be polite to the toddler. The girl seemed oddly familiar. Two or three seats up ahead, movement caught his eye and he realized why the child looked so familiar. A girl he had dated some two weeks ago – or was it three? – leaned over the back of her seat and whispered something in her mother's ear. Almost immediately, she leapt from where she sat and scooped up the toddler, casting a scowl Pietro's way in the process. She sat back down with the little girl in her lap, held onto rather securely, and made a positive effort to avoid eye contact with the stare she could feel at her back. The child waved to Pietro from where she sat upon her mother's knees. Pietro smiled back.

__

They can't tell me who to be  
Cause I'm not what they see  
Yeah, the world is still sleepin while I keep on dreaming for me  
And their words are just whispers and lies that I'll never believe  
  
I'm the one now  
Cause I'm still here  
I'm the one   
Cause I'm still here  
I'm still here  


********************************

As an FYI, for my readers given my near-impossible course-load, I have scheduled myself for (atleast) one (potentially more than one) update per weekened. So, if you're out to get me because I haven't updated in so long, consider yourself now informed of the plan. Cheers, don't forget to review! 


	4. Chasing the Past

History Lesson 

Chapter Four: Chasing the Past

The bus lurched forward as it came to its final stop. Pietro was off before anyone else had even stood to leave. Ah, the sweet smell of New York City. Sure, it was dirty and overcrowded, but it felt more like home than any other place he had ever known. He repositioned the bag on his shoulder then made his way through the crowds. The station wasn't too far from his house and he needed to stretch his legs so off he went a leisurely jog. Not many people noticed him; more so they were rather flabbergasted by the sudden violent wind that filled the streets.

Pietro could almost taste his mom's cooking; she had promised to make spaghetti for his welcome-home meal. He was so caught up in the idea of actual food that he didn't notice the little boy standing perilously in his way until it was too late. Nearly falling as his sneakers caught a discarded newspaper, he skidded to a stop not an inch in front of the boy – the boy about a third of his height, wearing jeans and green t-shirt, the boy with white-silver hair.

"Hey-" Pietro began but the kid was gone, along with his bag.

A giggle, his own giggle ten-years younger, threw his attention down a nearby alleyway. The boy stood at the end, idly waving and holding out Pietro's bag with a mischievous smile plastered across his face. Pietro knew that smile, it too was his own. He had worn it many times before in prelude to the many pranks he had pulled on his sister, including the time he had filled the shampoo bottle with Crest Kids toothpaste. Needless to say, Pietro jetted down the narrow alley in a fraction of a second. Again, the boy was gone.

Something small, rather solid and blunt hit him in the back of the head. Pietro turned in time to catch the stone fall to the ground and the figure of the boy disappear around a corner. Clenching his teeth in irritation, he followed the departing footsteps to a dead-end. A rusted metal door threatened to close shut at the end of the alley. Pietro caught it, stepping inside cautiously. A small set of stairs led downward into a dimly lit corridor. Pietro's childhood giggle resounded from within it. 

"Alright," Pietro warned. "That's it." He speared into the darkness, using the echoes at his guide. The eerily-familiar voice moved just out of his reach each time he pounced upon it. A door opened slowly at the end of the hallway, letting in a rectangular beam of light. Frustrated beyond all regard, Pietro ran to it mustering every ounce of control he had over his powers.

The door blew off as he rushed passed it, and many random objects such as the broken light fixtures followed him in his wake. The room was empty.

"What the hell is going on!" he demanded.

As if to answer, the door lifted off the ground from where it had landed and righted itself in the doorway. The door, Pietro noticed, was solid steel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two short updates this weekend. Thanks for reading, remember to review so I know you guys want more!


	5. Playing Catchup

History Lesson

Chapter Five: Playing Catch-up

Pietro spun around in a fury, but the room was empty. A single lightbulb swung back and forth overhead counting away the seconds. Shadows grew in one corner while shrinking in the opposite, then they receded and swarmed the other side of the room. As the small light illuminated the furthest corner, the shadows fell to reveal Magneto.

"It's one of your few flaws, Pietro, I'll admit. Your speed makes you rash . . . impulsive . . . predictable," he commented casually.

"What's going on?"

"Isn't it obvious? I've come to talk some sense into you."

Pietro spun again, eyeing every inch of the small room. Skepticism and suspicion flashed in his liquid blue eyes. They weren't alone. "Where's the boy? Who is he? Mystique?"

"Forget the boy, merely a lure," Magneto began, stepping away from the corner. Pietro made a move, ready to exit if and when necessary. "I'm not here to punish you, Pietro. I'm here to teach you a lesson."

That didn't sound any better. Pietro sneered his father's way, allowing his silence to say all that needed to be said.

"Pietro, you must not give up the fight for our kind," Magneto said.

"I'm not your emissary – or whatever anymore. I quit. I'm going home, being normal."

"You're not 'normal' and you never will be – how can you run and hide from all that I have taught you?"

"Taught me? The only thing you ever taught me was that opportunity makes the difference between gods and ants. I'm taking my opportunity to get out while I still can," Pietro exclaimed.

Magneto shook his dead. "You stupid boy, you actually think you can live as one of them? You'd abandon your own kind for your own well-being," he muttered disdainfully. "Nothing will change this way."

"Nothing changes anyway!" Pietro shouted back. 

"It will," Magneto assured his son. "Everything will change – but we must be willing to change it ourselves. We must be willing to fight for it."

"I'm too tired to fight your pointless war anymore. I'm going home." Pietro regarded Magneto with a look of finality before turning to leave. He actually thought the Master of Magnetism would let him, then the metal wire flew from Magneto's hand and wrapped itself around him. Pietro fell to the ground, struggling the frenzy of immobilization.

"I hoped it would not come to this. There are many things a father wishes to pass on to his son, but not this . . ." Magneto trailed off, looking behind him. Pietro followed his gaze. From the shadowy corner came the silhouette of the little boy into view. It focused then blurred, then refocused into that of a scraggly looking man with beady eyes. "You must fight, Pietro," Magneto continued. "If we do not fight now, then it _will_ get worse and the horrors will escalate. The horrors will escalate to the unthinkable and then it will be _too_ _late_. Too late to do anything but wait and pray for death. I know this Pietro, I've seen it . . . and now you will too."

Mastermind skulked towards the teen, wiggling his fingers in his usual manner. Pietro squirmed, looking to his father pleadingly. "No, not like Wanda."

Magneto shook his head. "No, not like Wanda. Worse."

**********************************************

Cold harsh rain snapped Pietro's attention back to the present. He was suddenly aware of it, though rather soaked. His shoes, he realized had holes in them which was not advantages when traversing thick mud in a storm. He pulled up the collar to his over-coat, attempting to shield his neck from the ice-like rain drops and then stuck his hands in the too-large pockets. It felt rather familiar, yet . . .

The bus. The girl. New York. The boy. Random flashes of memory sparked in his mind's eye. He was chasing that little boy, through the door and . . . then what? Here. "Was gescheht*?" he demanded. The words were alien to him but he knew what he had said. The confusion and panic. 'What's going on?' Someone caught a firm grip of his shoulder and pushed him forward. He turned in reply, but then stopped short. He stood there, frozen by what he saw. Now everything was silent and still. 'No.'

Worn proudly by the man, the swastika stared back at him from the Nazi's uniform.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, it didn't come out exactly as I had envisioned, but I hope you like nonetheless. (Please tell me!!) Thanks.

* - most equivalent phrase to "What's going on/What's happening?" as my school's German teacher and I could come up with.


	6. Immobilization

There was a throbbing that didn't go away and sense of always being watched. Pietro lay on the top bunk in the crowded room, shivering as he attempted to get some rest. There was too much cold and not enough blanket to sleep. So many people never woke up because of the cold and when the patrols went by outside, he held his breath, fearing the vapours escaping his mouth or the chattering of his teeth might warrant inspection . . . 

There was darkness everywhere, even during the day and it was always cold.

He was hungry too, starving. Though he remembered consuming something that resembled a hamburger before boarding the bus, he had never felt so ravenous in his life. When had he last ate? Days, weeks? Many people never woke up because they were hungry too.

Pietro curled up as small as possible on the little bed. The springs squeaked and each time his heart threatened to explode out of his chest. Would they hear? It was past curfew . . . time to sleep. He closed his eyes.

~

They walked like zombies, and maybe they were. People couldn't be that thin, that skeletal and still live, could they? The suits gave one a false sense of security, this wasn't prison . . . this was a grey hell. So many of them walked passed sharing the same face. Eyes that only saw the muddy ground. Many people never woke up because they were dead.

~

Coughing. A horse, dry sputter lifted Pietro from his faint sleep. It was night out still. Moonlight and searchlights illuminated the bunker just enough so he could make out the figure on the other side of the room. The man sat up, attempting to smother his cough in his hands. When he wasn't coughing he was sleeping.

The searchlights swept through Pietro's side, blinding him momentarily as if caught unexpectedly staring at the sun. He remembered the sun, but like a worn photograph touched by reminiscent hands one too many times, the memory was blurred and scattered. Warmth was just a word.

Was it early morning, or evening still? He had traded his watch for the thin blanket he had himself wrapped in. How long had he been here? Or could one actually quantify this? He shivered as a frigid breeze raced through the cracks of the bunker and down the aisles of stacked beds. He was so alone. The man across the room settled back in again and so did he.

~

When there wasn't coughing, there was screaming and shooting. One gunshot could mean hours of empty silence waiting, waiting for another or a banging on the door. There had been crying, but tears were a costly business. Now, there was just silence and waiting. 

~

Pietro's eyes shot open as he heard the marching outside. His legs were twitching to move, but he didn't dare. There was no movement, only hanging stillness and he would have suffocated but fear dumbed his senses. He forgot how to move without thinking. You always had to think. 

The troupe stomped by, the tops of their heads only slightly visible through the tiny window Pietro peered out of. As the last pair trotted by, his eyes subconsciously darted back to the corner of the bed he had previously been staring at. They would beat you for staring. A cloud of vapour erupted in front of his face as he let out the breath he had been holding. So exhausted and so hungry. Finally, sleep found him.

And there he lay, the boy who spoke of a world where Nazis and Hitler only existed in a textbook while he slept.

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Thanks for reading, please tell me what you think!


	7. Can't Stop Now

So, "JM", I should thank you – you've inspired me to keep this story going so that I might clean my name of the horrible words you've associated with it. Too bad you didn't leave your addy, else I wouldn't have to post this counterpoint here and I could send it directly to you. But as you have decided to so vehemently insult my story and me, personally, I feel that I need to say something in my defense.

Firstly, thank you, but I'm quite aware of the atrocities that took place in the concentration camps – as mentioned before though, I don't feel it's necessary to describe in minute detail the things these people had to go through. In essence, I wanted to convey the sense of fear and desperation that permeated everything in those horrible places. Pietro was essentially struck dumb by the emotions, _immobilized_ by the fear – hence the title. He couldn't use his powers for a specific reason, but also while he is experiencing this he can't think straight enough to remember about his powers. He's helpless. Get it?

I'm sure I can speak for the majority of the fanfiction community when I say I don't have any patience for immature people that would go so far as to insult the author herself for a work they didn't like. I'm personally fine with any sort of response, so again I thank you for reading my story, but if you're going to flame; do it right.

But to address your concern, and for fear of offending anyone else with my shameless insensitivity, I've decided to cut the entire sequence short. Here's to you, "JM":

Seriously, though, I dedicate this chapter to everyone who has reviewed thus far: (in no specific order) Dattatreya, nessie6, Skycat, "Clone", Sailor Wade, Dark is Light, "tonianne", Manic Reversed, Daft Sage, "xmen buff", "Kiki Cabou", bitrona, furygrrl and, of course, Sharli and my dearest Aislin Oriel.

Disclaimer: Xmen belongs to Marvel, this despicable plot, however, belongs to me.

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Pietro's eyes shot open before the rest of his body realized he was awake. As reality kicked in, a convulsion began in his gut . . . slowly reaching to every inch of his body. Spasm after spasm. He turned over and managed to get up on all fours before his stomach wretched with finality and he threw up a mire of bile and stomach contents. He threw up again at the sight and stench of it.

A strong hand grabbed him by the collar and lifted him away from the filth. He was leaned against a cool, cement wall. Magneto clasped both hands to his son's face and looked into his eyes.

"Now, you see," he intoned. "Now, you see what hate and anger conspire to become."

Pietro was shaking his head, thick tears fell onto the concrete-encased ground. Magneto shook his son again. Pietro glared up at his father. Kicking off the wall with all his power, he rushed past the master of magnetism and disappeared down the hallway, a frail gust of wind the only evidence of him ever being there.

Magneto looked to Mastermind hunched over in the corner of the room. "He can't run away from it anymore – not now that he knows . . ." the man's voice trailed off. "I had to do it," he said but whether he was trying to convince himself or his accomplice was left to ambiguity.

There wasn't anything in the world that could have stopped him. Everything was fresh in his head, lingering . . . images and feelings latching onto his mind's eye with barbed talons . . . they wouldn't let go and he couldn't run fast enough to lose them.

But finally he did stop.

There it was. The door.

His hand slowly reached for the knob, rested on it for near a second, then turned it. It was unlocked. They were waiting for him.

"Mom? Dad?" Pietro called.

His mother came out from the kitchen with her arms flung wide open. Pietro was in her embrace in a heartbeat. She wrapped her arms around him and in that moment, her son began to cry in a way that brought tears to her eyes.

"Pietro, what's wrong?"

"I'm just glad to see you," he managed.

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Sooo. And you think Magneto is going to give up after allthat? More to come. Please review, thanks. – k. ramsey


	8. Back on Track

Disclaimer: Xmen et al. not mine.

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He was lying on his back with his hands rested behind his head, as he stared at the bottom of the top bunk. Pietro couldn't remember the last time he had laid there. He remembered the day his dad had brought the bed home from the store, and how they had toiled away all afternoon in order to get it ready for bedtime. That had been a long time ago, and despite the fact that he had grown considerably since then, he had never bothered to ask for a new, bigger bed. When he slept on the top bunk he could see everything out of the window in his room. Before his powers had kicked in, dragging along that sometimes-annoying-now-a-fact-of-life impatience, he had sat up there a lot and just watched the city.

Now, he couldn't bare to think about going up to that top bunk. Now, all he could think about was-

A plate dropped in the kitchen, clearly audible through the thin walls. The argument continued. Pietro was trying not to listen.

"And he didn't even say a word about Wanda," his mother intoned to his father.

It wasn't true. He hadn't been able to explain to them about Wanda. He had told them she was fine. _That_ had been the lie. But he knew they wouldn't be able to handle his sister's transformation. Hell, they hadn't seen her for almost ten years. Pietro seemed to be causing them enough heartache as it was.

He tuned out the conversation again, focussing on an obscure point of interest on the floor. He was angry at the world, his parents, his father but mostly himself. He was wounded by the psychic episode he had just gone through. The tide of comfort and relief had washed over him and had since receded. Now there was an aftermath setting in, and he was trying with all of his might to ignore it. He had made a horrible discovery that he could only hope was untrue. There were some things about yourself you just never want to accept, and some things you cannot avoid no matter how hard you try.

Yet, despite the montage of feelings and images floating around inside his head, there was a newfound clarity to his life he couldn't help but notice. There was strength to the horrors he had experienced, a sort of power – survival, knowledge, life. It had been real. There was no turning away from it.

Suddenly, his cellphone rang, knocking him out of the reverie. He picked it up from the bedside table and flicked it open, bringing it to his ear.

"Pietro!" Tabitha greeted him before he had the chance to greet her; he noted the interesting reversal of roles.

"Yeah?"

"Where the hell are you!"

"I'm at home."

"No, you're not. We've been through this place up and down. We've been looking for you all day!"

"Didn't Mystique tell you? -"

"Mystique bailed. She's gone. Room's empty and everything."

"Well, I went back _home_."

"Christ, to New York! What? Well, when are you coming back?"

He didn't know how to answer her.

"Pietro? When are you coming back?"

He hung up.

Pietro tossed the phone onto his bed and paced for a few minutes. Then he leaned on the closed door and surveyed his room. Cold in the winter and smelling of greasy city air in the summer because they could never afford air conditioning. The only high-end things he owned were the computer and stereo. He had bought them with the money he had stolen from school. Still, they were just for show anyways; he never used them. No patience.

He sighed.

His parents were still in the kitchen talking. Pietro decided that he could longer let them carry out the conversation without him. He walked out into the hallway quietly. His dad sat at the kitchen table. His mother had her back to him as she waved her arm around emphatically.

"What the hell did he do to our son?" she demanded of her husband. "I've never seen him like that."

His dad said nothing in reply.

"He took Wanda from us and now he's destroying Pietro," she went on.

"Well, they never were our kids to begin with and we knew that going in," his dad stated, then he shook his head.

"How can you say that?" she demanded.

"You know I don't mean it like that. Look," his dad began. "We're just going to have to make a decision, right now. Eric'll be back, we both know that and he'll want _his_ son. We'll have to go somewhere else. Europe maybe, and we'll need to do it quickly."

"He'll find me," Pietro said from the hallway. His parents both turned their attention his way. "Wherever we go, he'll find me. I don't want to be any more of a burden to you than I already am-"

"Pietro, no," his mother interjected.

Pietro stood to his full height, avoiding eye contact with her. "I have to go back. I don't want to – but I do. Whether I like it or not, Magneto's right. I'm part of this. I hate that he's right, but he is. I can't just run away and pretend like everything's alright because it's never going to be alright until people stop running away and pretending. It's only going to get worse." The words were coming out slowly, unbearably slowly – partly because he was reluctant to say them and partly because he wanted his parents to understand.

"He's made you the leader of damn gang, Pietro," his dad exclaimed.

"Yeah, but I asked for that responsibility. Back at the boarding house, there are people – mutants – who rely on me. I can't leave them. It was selfish to think that I could. It was . . ." he trailed off because the last thing was hardest of all to say. "It was hypocritical."

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The basketball hit the board, then dropped over the side of the net cruelly. Pietro picked it up and shot again. He knew he had confused the hell out of his parents – that he had successfully put them through the ringer in the past couple of days. Still, they were just glad to see him. He was Pietro, their son. Not Quicksilver, not Magneto's lackey, not even a mutant.

The shot circled around the hoop, then tipped over the side again. He had grabbed it before it hit the ground. Another shot.

Things seemed to be falling into place. He had been running away for a long time, but now he felt as if he was heading somewhere, had some purpose. At first he had thought this was about his father, Magnus – about proving something to him but Pietro had realized there was more to it.

He had wanted to be the mutant that didn't give a shit what the world thought of him but he hadn't been able to pull it off – he hadn't been able to go on as if all of the hate didn't bother him. It had made sense at the time to run from it all. To go back home where it was safe. But that in itself was the same mistake, wasn't it?

The basketball went in, bouncing only a couple of times before coming to a stop a few feet away.

Pietro eyed it but didn't make a move to retrieve it.

He couldn't go on pretending the problem didn't bother him and he couldn't go on pretending it didn't exist. He was a mutant. He was Magneto's son.

_And_, he thought - ego sparking to life. _I'm in charge of the Brotherhood again_.

It was time to learn from his mistakes.

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Yay! Thanks for reading, please review! I'm not sure if this is the end or not. It makes for some nice closure if it is but something else may come up before I retire this fic for good. Cheers –k.ramsey

PS- Anyone interested in the controversy regarding this story please read below:

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AN: I really can't win, can I? I suppose, it was inevitable that despite my attempts to avoid it, this story would stir some controversy. So be it. I'll thank RaeDances right now for actually having the guts to leave some sort of way to get in touch though. You see, the thing that pisses me off is: I was never angry for JM critiquing my story the way that he or she did. I was angry for the fact that this person insulted me personally. That's not acceptable in my books. So, I apologize if my abilities to portray this story have fallen short for some people's expectations, but I've done my best and I'm happy with that. If you don't think I've done an adequate job, then sure, tell me, but don't go off and say that I have no respect, sensitivity or good taste. Now, if this little note generates even more bashings for my benefit, than, again, so be it. I'm a storyteller out to tell a story. I'll admit that my historicity is not 100, and it is too bad that the disclaimer was removed so very long ago, but either way you can enjoy it or tell me or hate it and tell me, just please stop accusing me of being an ungrateful writer. There are only a few things in the world that I am most certainly not, one of them is being the Queen of England, but the relevant one is definitely being an ungrateful writer. And here, I end my rant. Many thanks and good night.


	9. Back in the Race

_A few months later . . ._

Pietro looked the new recruits up and down; they were lined up militarily. Three boys and a girl. _This place is getting crowded_, he thought absently. Magneto wanted them trained, and ready – soon – but for what his father had neglected to mention. Gambit, leaning against the wall to his left, let out a quiet snicker.

"Here's their files – if you're that interested in knowing all their dirty little secrets," he said as he tossed Pietro a small disk

Pietro caught it lightly, regarding it for a second before he continued his pacing.

"I think they got some potential, 'cept for that one maybe," Gambit pointed to the girl at the end of the line. "She's a little too soft, I think."

The girl sneered, but said nothing.

"Anyway, Magneto say he want these newbies looked after real good," Gambit continued as he pushed off the wall and stretched.

Pietro nodded, remembering the way his father had spoken about the new group of mutants. Something in his speech had told Pietro, that atleast one of them was more to Magneto than just a tool – a rare occurrence given his own son's questionable status. His eyes swept over them one last time. From the right to left, stood the girl, Alice Luna, then her cousin, Felix Luna, both who's powers he couldn't recall offhand – then there was the kid named Elijah Fox, a telepath with the ability to possess people (and their powers) with a single touch, and finally there was Christof Laramie, a mutant who had the power to manipulate the density of objects.

"Alright," he said to the four recruits. "Find yourself a room and consider yourself part of the Brotherhood. Congratulations." He made an attempt to sound enthusiastic, but was quite aware of how unimpressed the statement came out.

Gambit laughed again. "Have fun," he teased as he left.

ooo

After the second knock, Pietro's patience gave out and he let himself in. Christof was snoring loudly, sprawled across the mattress of his bed – still in the clothes he had been wearing the day before. Pietro walked over to him and grabbed him by the collar. Christof's eyes shot open as he took a swing at Pietro, apparently a sub-conscious action as the boy's eyes closed again immediately thereafter. His fist's momentum brought him into a spin that took him off his bed. He landed in a half-asleep pile at Pietro's feet.

"What the hell do you want at this hour of the goddamn morning?" the newb muffled from the floor.

"Get up. Classes start in half an hour," Pietro explained.

Christof's head jerked awkwardly in the other teen's direction. "What the hell are you-" He was half way through his sentence before he realized Pietro wasn't even there anymore.

The other three proved easier to rouse in that they were already awake, and had gathered in the kitchen, presumably for breakfast. Little did they know, the Brotherhood's abode rarely housed anything midly edible. Most of the cupboard doors were open as Pietro came to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen. Felix, being the closest one to Pietro's entry let out a short shriek, and jumped backwards in fright onto the island in the middle of the kitchen like a cat jumping back after a scare.

Pietro regarded the whole event curiously. Alice and Elijah both started to giggle.

"Christ, man! Don't do that," Felix muttered exasperatedly, holding his chest. "Or atleast give us some warning." Apparently calmed down, he sat on the island cross-legged non-chalantly.

"Let's go," Pietro instructed. "If you're hungry the cafeteria should be open."

"This place has a cafeteria?" Elijah asked, amazed.

Alice rolled her eyes. "You're not suggesting, what I think you're suggesting . . ." she pleaded.

"Wha?" Felix added to the conversation.

"I've got your schedules, locker numbers and a backpack for each of you. Let's go."

Christof sauntered in, yawning as he spoke. "Look, Pietro, I don't do school."

"School?" Elijah and Felix piped in unison.

"We're mutants, none of us do school," Alice clarified, folding his arms across her chest defiantly.

"You do now," Pietro said with finality.

"Why don't the others have to go?" Christof demanded.

"Because they were stupid enough to get themselves kicked out," Pietro said in passing as he left the kitchen. As if on cue, the other four followed him into the living room. "When you signed up, you promised to live by my rules and this is one of them." He sped over to the front door where four non-descript black backpacks sat, each with one of the new recruit's name on it via masking tape. He tossed each bag out and then disappeared out the door.

"So," Felix began as he studied the backpack he held. "School . .. huh."

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Hmm, not entirely sure what this is – but I had this scene in my head so I had to get it out. Might be the first bit of a new story, or just a way of showing that Pietro's back to it, I dunno. I suppose any response I get for this will help me decide – so please review, thanks!

Ps – Just wanted to say thanks to all of the kind words I have received regarding this story.


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